


You will not be able to give him what he wants

by starrystarryknit



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alcoholic Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Author does not speak Italian either, Because they are a married couple, Blood Donation, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Canon-Typical Violence, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, F/F, HIV/AIDS, HIV/AIDS Crisis, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I love her but this got too long as it is, I'm sorry there's no Nile in here, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Acting Like a Married Couple, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Cooks, Pandemics, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), author does not speak french
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27047740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrystarryknit/pseuds/starrystarryknit
Summary: Andy has a very strict do-not-engage policy for plagues; she’s the oldest and has lived through plenty of them. The rest of the Old Guard mostly follow along; the four of them trying to stop a pandemic makes about as much sense as trying to prevent an earthquake or halt an erupting volcano.The Old Guard may be family, but that doesn’t mean they don’t keep secrets from each other.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	1. London 2020 & Madrid 1889

**London, 2020**

After long seconds he feels the horrible implement withdraw from his body. Whatever it is that powers the healing process is finally allowed to begin working, and he can almost feel his flesh racing to catch up with the tiny piece that is being drawn out as it knits together. The blonde woman brushes her gloved fingers over Nicky’s torso just as the wound closes, still holding a small piece of him with her tool. 

“Remarkable.” 

She turns to drop the bit of flesh into some container on a tray. Once his body stops shaking, once his heartbeat stabilizes and the infernal _beeping_ of the machine slows down, he takes a few breaths to center himself again. 

“You will not be able to give him what he wants.” 

He thinks, but does not say aloud: _I know, I’ve tried._

\------------------------------------

**Madrid, 1889**

Nicky heard their voices changing as the argument escalated: Andy’s was pitched lower with her words clipped as Sébastien’s tone grew more desperate. He was trying the logical route. It wasn’t going to work, but of course Sébastien was still new and hadn’t fully realized that yet. 

“No, absolutely not, we DO NOT go to the hospital. And we’re still leaving in two days.” 

“But Andy, I’ve explained this so many times, it’s different now!”

“No. Bastien, I said no. I don’t care what new quasi-mystical shitty name they’re calling it-” 

“Please, Andromache, it’s called germ theory-” 

Nicky winced at Andy’s dismissive comment, and Joe shot him a quick look. They could both tell that Sébastien was now holding back tears of frustration; it was unclear whether Andy couldn’t tell or if she was just choosing to ignore it. The next sentence came out staccato with each word punctuated by a slam of a glass on the table. 

“I. SAID. NO.” 

Nicky sighed, stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. Sébastien was hurriedly wiping up brandy that had splattered across a map. Andy was seated, resting her elbows on her knees with her head in her hands, her muscles wound tight. Anyone who hadn’t known her for centuries might have mistaken her hunched-over posture for defeat. Sébastien was learning though; he looked somewhat cowed by Andy’s outburst. 

Nicky hated seeing them like this. He knew it was only a matter of time before their frustration dissipated and the four of them could return to a more peaceful coexistence, but he also knew that Andy’s leadership style tended towards more directives and fewer explanations, and Sébastien did not have the advantages he and Joe had shared by joining at the same time. Thinking of how he met Joe reminded Nicky again of how much harder the transition was going for their newest addition. When Andy gave Nicky or Joe a rule they didn’t understand, they could rely on Quynh for more explanation or work out the why by talking with each other. But Quynh was gone, and Sébastien both revered and craved Andy’s expertise over Nicky and Joe’s. 

The Frenchman ran his fingers through sandy hair, tipping his face up to the ceiling and stretching his back and neck after spending the better part of an hour of leaning over the table. _Andy certainly has a way of making men bend to her will,_ Nicky observed wryly. Glancing down at the small wood table, he recognized on the map a byzantine pattern of streets and alleys and lanes that could only be London. He took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose, hands on hips as he took in the rest of the papers on top of and next to the map. 

“Sébastien, this is London, yes? But what are these little marks, here and here?” As he spoke, Joe came in with cups of water for both of them and took away the brandy bottle. 

At Nicky’s gentle prompting, Sébastien’s face softened. He could see what Nicky was doing; he’d watched his oldest Étienne do the same with Jean-Pierre and Claude in what he thought of as _the before time_. But where Jean-Pierre and Claude had felt patronized or coddled by their brother, Sébastien felt only care and genuine concern from the other two men. He allowed himself to be turned from his frustrations. 

“So _ici_ , look at the whole set of dashes. Not any one alone, but the whole of them.” He swept a broad hand through the air just above the map from one edge to another. 

“Where does the center appear to be to you Nicoló? Of the dashes I mean, not of the map.” He looked intently at Nicky while Nicky looked intently at the map. Nicky pursed his lips in thought as he considered the distribution. 

“Somewhere here, I’d guess.” he said as he pointed at a place on the map where the dashes were stacked five or ten deep. Peering closer at the small lettering, he was able to read the words “Broad Street” and noticed that one spot which he had originally taken to be a splash of brandy was in fact a set of about 20 dashes marked at one place. It hit Nicky suddenly what it was he was looking at. 

“Bastien, these are deaths. These marks are where people died. Of what?” 

“These were cholera.” The words came out softly. Nicky’s heart ached at the pain in Booker’s voice, still raw whenever he spoke of illness or disease even four decades after the death of his last son. 

“The doctor in this paper thinks they all drank water from the same pump, here.” Sébastien continued as he pointed at a circle Nicky hadn’t noticed before, less than an inch from the point Nicky had guessed to be the center of the deaths. “But it’s not as simple as saying the water was tainted. The question is, tainted with _what?_ These doctors are looking for incredibly tiny _animeaux, ou organismes comment ils les appellant._ ” Nicky followed the transition into French relatively easily, and continued to nod as Sébastien took him through the horrible conjectures of how these people had died: from a disease carried by creatures too small to see, creatures that lived in the feces of people who’d fallen ill, feces which had somehow gotten into the water that this pump drew from. Nicky had seen what cholera did to a person, and part of Nicky’s mind tried to push against his efforts to comprehend the whole awful chain of reasoning. That other part reminded him of how he and Joe would slip back into Italian during a tense mission, and how they would beg Quynh to slow down when she and Andy would start joking around in Viet-Muong. It took an effort to pull himself away from reminiscing and back to Sébastien’s argument. 

“... so what if these _organismes_ cannot live in us? Or what if they can, but without making us fall ill? I’ve been reading about these new theories of disease,” he said as he gestured at the other stacks of books underneath and around the map, “how the seeds of illness may be given from one man to another by the sharing of these _organismes._ Or by being eaten or drunk. Now, the doctors here are saying they can move through the air as well, on our own breath.” Sébastien glanced out the dark kitchen windows as if he could see the breeze that wafted through the room. “They think that might be happening here.” He turned back to face Nicky. “If we cannot get sick, shouldn’t we at least care for those who are, Nicoló? You and Joe and Andromache, you say that we do not know why we are here, but that we choose to help. Why are we now hiding?” 

Nicky sat down slowly in the chair closest to the map. Poking out from underneath he saw the spine of a thin book titled “The Lancet.” _How appropriate,_ Nicky thought. _A weapon of battle repurposed to fight sickness._ He shook his head slowly, then looked up at Sébastien. 

“You have to understand Bastien, that Andy has probably lived through ten times the number of plagues that I have and I’ve lived through quite a few. I know what it’s like when a pestilence descends. There’s two things that happen, always, that make it dangerous for us to be seen. One, there are suddenly fewer people once the deaths begin. Two, everyone who is left is scared and looking for a reason to blame something they can touch. And the worse the disease, the more deadly it is, the more we stand out. Everyone remembers who got sick and died, who just got a little sick, and who never got sick at all. In a hospital it’s even worse, they don’t just remember, they write it down as well.” 

Nicky glanced around before continuing. He did not want to bring up Quynh in front of Andy, and he could tell that Sébastien needed more reasons. Seeing that Andy had slipped out of the room at some point, he went on: “Remember we told you what happened to Quynh?”

“Yes,” Sébastien replied, “of course. Locked up and tossed in the sea.”

“That is what happens when people find out what we are. How they find out does not make a difference. They try to take it or they try to destroy us in spite of what they see our bodies do. It never ends well. So we stay low, we don’t take jobs where the illness is worst, and most importantly we remain free so that we can continue our work even after the plague passes.” 

Sébastien slowly nodded his head, although his eyebrows were furrowed and he still did not look completely convinced. He gave the table one last wipe with the rag and started gathering up his papers slowly. After carrying one armful back to his bedroom, he returned for the water cup and the map. 

“ _Merci_ , Nicoló. ” 

Nicky clapped him on the shoulder. “ _Prego, Libro._ And when will you start calling me Nicky, eh?” 

Booker let out a roughly Gallic laugh and replied “Well Nicky, I suppose I’ll start now. _Bon soir._ ” 


	2. Florence, 1350

Nicky walked faster than everyone else in his excitement to see the city center from this vantage point, and Joe kept pace close behind. They stopped at the crest of the hill, and Nicky could feel the excitement slowly draining out of him as he took in what was once one of his favorite views. Joe inclined his head and placed a hand on Nicky’s shoulder as Nicky stared down past the green hillside in the direction of the piazza. Quynh and Andy were still a ways back, their voices being carried by the breeze. Nicky couldn’t make out what they were saying. 

“Where is everyone?” Nicky’s voice sounded distant in his own ears. “It’s a market day… I don’t understand. Why would they move the market from the piazza?” The buildings were mostly the same as he remembered, but the crowds, or rather the lack of crowds, was not. 

“Nicky, _hayati_ …” Joe’s voice brought Nicky back to something like solid ground as the two women caught up and stopped walking. Their arms were loosely draped around each others’ waists, but at the sight of Nicky’s face Quynh slipped out of the taller woman’s touch to stand next to him. 

“Nicky? What’s wrong?” 

“They moved the market. It’s supposed to be in the piazza every Wednesday, but it’s not here.”

“Nicky, the market is there.” Quynh said as she pointed at a small collection of tents tucked up against the sides of a building in a far corner of the open space. 

“No, that can’t be the market. The market is big, that’s only a few stalls. They must have moved it.” This wasn’t making any sense at all. This was clearly Florence. One could see just over there where they were building the new cathedral. But the construction site should have been crawling with builders, engineers, and artisans. Nicky had to re-count the days in his head to be sure that, no, it wasn’t a Sunday. 

Nicky knew in an abstract way that this sickness was worse, and that a great many people had died and were dying still. He reasoned that, of course, a port city would lose a lot of people. Naples, or Pisa. Nobody trusted the sailors these days. Hell, they’d deliberately stayed far from the sea so they wouldn’t end up stuck on a boat or accused of bringing the sickness somewhere it hadn’t come yet. That’s why Andy had insisted they stop in Florence and not Venice or Genoa. But Nicky’s mind insisted that this was all academic, because this was _Florence_ . Florence was _always_ busy and bright. 

“Nicky. Nicky, look at me.” Andy stood directly in front of him and gripped his shoulders hard, so that she blocked his line of sight. Her voice was like running water, smoothing over some of the rough stones in his mind and washing away debris. 

“This is why we stay away. We can’t stop something like this. People will get sick, and people will die, but we can’t cure them. _Nicoló_.” Nicky’s eyes drifted back to the tiny number of stalls that he couldn’t quite force his mind to think of as the market, then he snapped them back to Andy’s as she said his name again. 

“Listen. What’s a better use of our time: helping those families who had the rotten luck to be Jewish and have stupid violent pricks as neighbors, or just sitting here to watch death run its course knowing we can’t stop it?” She pointed down at the piazza as she continued. “If we had been here and not there, those families would probably be dead, along with all the people who got sick.” Joe was holding Nicky’s hand now, their fingers tightly interlaced. “We did _not_ waste our time. I don’t believe we could have done more good here.” 

Nicky looked over to Joe, expecting him to be gazing either at Andy or the nearly empty piazza. But his deep brown eyes were already on Nicky, traveling over Nicky’s face in concern. Nicky looked back at the piazza and sat down on a rock heavily, his scabbard thumping the ground. Joe knelt beside him. 

“It will be alright, Nicky. I’m right here.” Joe pulled Nicky into a tight embrace, first squeezing Nicky’s ribs with both arms and then placing one warm hand protectively on the back of Nicky’s neck as Nicky buried his face in Joe’s shoulder. Nicky pulled in several shaky breaths then lifted his head so that he could ground himself in Joe’s steady gaze. 

“Promise me we’ll still help, my light?” 

“Yes, yes of course, my stars. We’ll help. Won’t we?” Joe addressed the question to Quynh and Andy. It was Quynh who reached down with one hand to each of them and helped lift the two men to their feet. Her voice held a conviction that first pierced and then dissipated the fog in Nicky’s head. 

“I swear to you both, as I did at the beginning. We will help.” 


	3. Boston, 1920

Booker strode heavily into the common room with the folded newspaper in one hand, glaring at Andy. This was not good. They were all exhausted already, and Nicky wanted nothing other than to just not be travelling anymore. The trip back from the front had been long and tense. They’d finally gotten off the boat in New York only to discover that their safehouse (really, it was little more than the barn and outhouse on an abandoned farm) had been bought out to make way for new railroad lines. Thanks to Booker’s newspaper they had also quickly learned that New York was having a resurgence of the same influenza they’d seen in the trenches, the one they’d been trying to avoid for the better part of two years. It was actually only somewhat clear that it was the same influenza, according to the front page of the paper that Booker was practically brandishing. It didn’t help that Andy and Booker were both in a foul mood due to the abrupt shift from abundantly available alcohol on board the ocean liner to basically nothing on the train. 

Booker dropped the newspaper on the table in front of Andy where she couldn’t fail to read it and curtly declared “Well, I guess we’ll have to telegraph the doctors in Serbia and tell them it’s just more quasi-mystical shit after all.” He shrugged in that casual yet pissed-off way that only the Gauls could. 

“ _Quand même,_ I’m going out to see if any pubs are open at this horrible hour. Don’t worry Andy, I have this to reassure the rest of the drunken fools even though it’s not necessary.” This last was said with bitterness as he tied a large square of diagonally-folded fabric around his face, covering his nose and mouth. Over his shoulder, Booker tossed back a muffled “Don’t wait up.” 

To his credit, Nicky thought, Booker managed to not slam the door on his way out. The headline, clearly not from the front page but still printed large enough to catch the eye, read “Doctors Name Typhus Bacteria After Fallen Czech Colleague.” Nicky sighed. They’d seen the flu in the trenches, but they’d also seen plenty of other diseases including a lot of typhus. None of the four of them caught it of course, but that didn’t stop the lice from itching like hell. Typhus always seemed to make Booker more upset than usual, even though more than a century had passed since he watched it sweep through Napoleon’s army. 

“Honestly, it’s an improvement over the last time boss” Joe offered as he picked up the paper, sat down next to Nicky, and began to read. “And hey, maybe they are onto something here.” Nicky watched Joe’s eyes scan back and forth over the newspaper, admiring how quickly his love was able to read the article. Nicky’s English was just a little rusty and he’d relied heavily on his Italian while searching for this apartment and haggling their rent. Joe continued, “Have to say though, if they’re right about these bacteria then I _definitely_ wouldn’t want one named after me.” Nicky laughed and Andy snorted through her nose while walking over to stretch out on the couch. 

With things somewhat loosened by the joke, they settled into an easy silence. Joe unfolded and refolded the paper as he worked through the news stories. Nicky absent-mindedly rubbed a hand lightly over Joe’s back while holding his book open with the other hand, the two of them lost in their reading. 

“Hey boss, remember that job we did in Montevideo a while back? The one right after the siege?” Joe asked after a while. 

“Which siege, Joe? The first one or the second one?” Andy replied, her eyes closed and feet propped on the armrest of the couch. 

Joe paused to think for a moment. “The second one.” 

“Hm. Wazzat the one in the city, or the one with the boats?” Andy’s voice was fuzzy now with sleep. Two small _thuds_ sounded as she toed her boots off and they landed on the floor. 

“The one in the city, not the one on the boats. Wasn’t one of the young men called Lima?” 

“Mmm. Mmhmm.” 

“I wonder if that’s a common name in Brazil.” 

Andy did not reply to his last comment, either in words or other sounds. Nicky stood up, set his book down, and caught Joe’s eye. He put a finger over his lips and then pointed to the couch, where Andy let out a small snore as she turned onto her side. Joe gave a sweet half-smile at Nicky’s back and watched him pull a blanket from a set of drawers to gently drape over Andy. Silently, Joe stood up and followed Nicky to the back bedroom, not taking his eyes off of Nicky as he dropped the newspaper in the wastebasket. 


	4. New York, 1968

“So where is this fancy place you were saving for our last night here, _habibi_?” Joe said teasingly as they walked up the sidewalk. 

“I never said fancy! I said it was special.” Nicky replied with mock affront. They turned the corner onto Christopher Street and Nicky pointed at a brick-front building down the block. It looked smaller than its two storeys in comparison to the high-rise it was crowded up against. A string of lights draped from a window box to the top of the large vertical neon sign, then down the opposite side to another window box. 

“Hey, I like it.” Joe said as he bumped his shoulder gently into Nicky’s, clearly wishing they were holding hands. His were tucked into his jacket while Nicky’s were stuffed deep in the pockets of his jeans. 

“I thought you would.” Nicky said with a smile. “Besides, just wait until you see the inside.” 

“Babe I can already _hear_ the inside. How are we going to have a nice long talk over our drinks?” 

“You’ll see, Joe.” Nicky couldn’t help his smile widening, his eyes dancing. They entered through the large wooden door and were directed by a bouncer to sign a guestbook of all things. This clearly struck Joe as humorous since he raised one eyebrow at Nicky while scribbling ‘J. Jones’ on the line below Nicky’s ‘N. Smith.’ Once they passed the guestbook, Nicky pulled his hands out of his pockets and slipped one arm around Joe’s waist. At this, both of Joe’s eyebrows were practically hitting the ceiling. 

“ _Nicoló._ I thought we agreed we weren’t going to draw attention?” Joe asked, ducking his head so Nicky could hear him but the other patrons couldn’t. His voice was outwardly teasing but with a current of tension underneath, and Nicky noticed Joe was expertly navigating them out of the line of sight of both the bartender and the bouncer. 

“I haven’t forgotten, _Yusuf_ .” Nicky enunciated Joe’s name carefully, liking the way it sounds in his mouth almost as much as he likes the way Joe’s hip feels under his palm. “But I think we don’t need to worry here. If there’s trouble, it won’t be because of us.” He turns Joe discreetly so he can see the two young men leaning against the wall opposite the bar. Their bottles of beer are forgotten on a shelf, and they are kissing as though the other were their only source of oxygen. Nicky adds as an afterthought, “Or at least, it won’t _just_ be because of us.” 

Nicky can feel Joe begin to relax just the smallest bit. 

“Ok, what do you want to drink? I’m getting a beer.” Joe asked. 

“Oh, get me one as well.” 

“All right. You want to wait here? It’s crowded.” 

The way Joe is reassessing their surroundings while waiting for the bartender’s attention throws the events of the past month into sharp contrast for Nicky. It had been impossible for them to miss the reports of police raiding bars and parks at night or the newspapers’ use of the word ‘deviants.’ It was just so stark. The mood of a place has always been something they watch for, something they have to read and interpret in every new context, but it was usually more subtle. Returning to a city after a long absence, they’d watch for the reactions of strangers on the street. For some centuries and some places it was better, and for some it was worse. Nicky and Joe agreed between the two of them that lately it had mostly been getting worse. The most recent three centuries were not the same as the six that came before. They of course could and would always show their affection for each other during a battle, but in the lulls between missions when the point was to disappear, it wouldn’t do for them to be too memorable. To be the people the neighbors whisper about. It wasn’t worth the risk of drawing attention to themselves, especially when they were staying with Andy and Booker as they were now in preparation for a mission. 

It was like being the frog in the pot of cool water, with a flame underneath that starts out as nothing more than a spark but which grows so slowly that the frog never realizes it’s being cooked. Nicky was certain that’s what it would feel like if he could never touch Joe again, like being boiled alive. Nicky noticed two Black women talking animatedly with someone else, the taller of the two with her arm draped easily across the shoulders of her companion. He silently vowed to check in with Andy after the next job is over, once they get settled again. He hasn’t asked her about Quynh in too long. 

Joe returned with their beers, handed one to Nicky and clinked the bottles. Nicky took a sip then put both arms around Joe’s waist, holding the bottle by its open neck behind Joe’s back. 

“So this was the special place, Nicky? A gay bar?” 

“Not just any gay bar, they also have dancing, Joe.” 

“Oh I noticed that, and don’t think for one second we’re going home without me dragging you out there. Is that what you meant by the surprise?” 

“Yes and no. I thought it would be, but you know what the real surprise is?” he asked Joe, allowing himself to get a little lost in Joe’s eyes, their dark brown shading into black in the dim light. 

“What’s the real surprise?”

“I actually do feel like dancing tonight.” 

They both laugh at that, because it’s their old joke. Joe pretends that he has to convince Nicky to dance, even though he knows that Nicky always, _always_ feels like dancing. After a few more minutes of flirting and drinking they leave their half-finished beers behind, and Nicky allows Joe to lead him through the crowd to the dance floor. He doesn’t notice that a few of the other patrons are eyeing him or Joe (or both) appreciatively. All Nicky can think of is how _good_ it feels to see his Yusuf, the sun of his life, free to flash that stunning smile, and how content he is to be free to return that smile with complete openness. Joe grabs Nicky by the hips and gives him a quick, hard kiss as they start to move in time to the music along with the rest of the dancers. In here, behind that big wooden door and the clearly bored bouncer, they would not be too memorable. 


	5. San Francisco, 1985 (part 1)

They have two weeks together while they wait for Booker and Andy to meet up with them. As the sniper, it was most important for Nicky to get out of Uruguay first even though he had not needed to take the shot after all, so Booker and Andy were taking their time. It was so much easier to get two people somewhere quickly than four. They had started taking more jobs like this, where the team was essentially insurance to make sure powerful men stayed on their best behavior. But the new president was fine, and the election had gone smoothly in spite of the previous decade of military rule. 

They’d kept up with the news on their way back to the US. Joe mostly read newspapers while Nicky preferred the radio or tv. They agreed that it covered all the bases, although sometimes the differences in the coverage were quite pronounced. 

“Nicky, did you know about this? Our guy’s family was genovese, and he was born in Montevideo!” Joe shouts into the kitchen while Nicky makes a second round of coffee. 

“Which guy? The one I didn’t have to shoot, or the one that he was maybe going to shoot?” 

“The new president, Nicky. They wouldn’t run a piece on a suspected assassin in the papers.” 

“Ah, of course. Well, the president of Uruguay probably wouldn’t even warrant a mention on the tv, so you’re ahead of me there. Montevideo… is that the double-seige place?” 

“Yes, although presumably they’ve fixed the problem this century.” 

Joe prefers to read the papers in the mornings, and Nicky likes to catch the evening news. One day halfway through their stay while Joe is out getting more groceries, Nicky settles into the couch and turns the tv on a little earlier than usual. The channel is in the middle of a live interview. A blonde woman is talking to a thin bearded man holding a sign that says “Fund AIDS research NOW”. In the background the camera catches a crowd of people walking around with more signs. It takes Nicky a minute to catch the thread, but it appears this man is part of a group of protesters demanding the US government spend more money to study the disease. Nicky has of course heard the name AIDS before this, but watching the program connects several things in his understanding. The man wraps up his interview by showing the reporter a photo that he pulls from his jacket pocket. The camera cuts away from the live feed to a close-up shot of the photo as the bearded man’s voice continues. 

“This was Ben. We met in New York in 1967. That picture was taken maybe two months after the Stonewall riots. Ben was kind, and funny, and smart as a whip. He contracted AIDS in ‘81. He was the love of my life, and he’s gone. I held his hand at the end.” 

Nicky feels the breath go out of him, tears stinging his eyes. It’s the couple from the bar, the ones who were making out. Nicky hadn’t recognized Ben’s lover with his beard, and he’s clearly lost weight in the past 17 years. This man was no less in love with his Ben than Nicky is with Joe. It’s too much for NIcky to bear, so he allows the tears to flow freely. 

“President Reagan says he’s going to make this a top priority? Well, we’re here to make sure he knows we won’t be satisfied with just talk. We want to see more research, more drug trials, more clean needle exchanges, and high-quality medical care for everyone, not just the rich white folks. They think we’re all just a bunch of fags and junkies, so it’s okay if we die. But it shouldn’t matter who you are; every person who has AIDS is still a person. Ben deserved better, and all the other people who have this awful disease deserve better.” 

Nicky’s breath hitches in an ugly sob. He keeps thinking of how he and Joe had danced the night away and left for a mission in Vietnam the next morning. The four of them had not had to face death the way the other soldiers did, or the way the civilians did. Even in some hypothetical universe where Nicky and Joe stayed in New York and became embedded in that neighborhood and community, even if they could somehow keep their immortality a secret for 17 years, they would not experience the effects of this illness the same way. This illness would not do to them what it had done to Ben, and so it would not do to them what it had done to the bearded man either. He had watched his friends, his chosen family, and his love suffer first from police violence and now a deadly illness. The thoughts just keep rushing in, one after another, utterly relentless. 

By the time Nicky regains his composure, another reporter is reading a related story about a newly-developed test being rolled out in blood banks, and Nicky gets an idea.


	6. San Francisco, 1985 (part 2)

He had figured the process would be so easy, but it’s not. Finding where to go was easy enough to do while Joe took a shower the day after Nicky watched the interview. But it takes Nicky three tries at three different donation centers before he figures out why they’re turning him away. 

The receptionist at the first one takes one look at his clipboard, excuses herself, and after several long minutes returns from the back office. “I’m so _so_ sorry Mr… uh… Smith, but we won’t be able to see you today. Thank you.” Her face is deeply flushed, and she’s deliberately fiddling with the pens and papers on her desk so she doesn’t have to meet Nicky’s gaze. She can’t be older than 25, and it’s obvious he can’t ask why without horribly embarrassing the girl. Perhaps she made a mistake and they’re already full for the day (even though it doesn’t _look_ particularly full to Nicky). So instead he thanks her for her time, and while walking back stops for two cups of coffee to bring home to Joe. He’s a little puzzled, but not worried. There’s another place on the other side of the city that he can probably get to after lunch. 

There, the receptionist is an older man, clean shaven and heavy set, probably in his mid-50’s. After glancing at Nicky’s clipboard he looks up, and just says “You can’t donate blood here, sir.” There is nothing respectful about the ‘sir’. “Why not?” Nicky replies with as measured a tone as he can muster. “You know why.” the man says as he crumples up the paper and turns his back to throw it in the garbage can. Nicky places his palms on the counter and continues in that same even, controlled tone. “No, I really don’t know why. Why don’t you tell me?” The man looks Nicky up and down slowly and says derisively “This is a _Catholic_ hospital. Please don’t cause a scene.” which is such a non sequitur that it throws Nicky out of his annoyance and into utter confusion. Of course it’s a Catholic hospital, that much would be obvious even if it wasn’t named after the same saint as the church across the street. By the time Nicky catches up with his own train of thought, the receptionist is helping another donor on their way out, deliberately ignoring Nicky’s presence. Nicky decides it’s not worth making a scene after all. He’ll try again in a day or two. 

Back at their little apartment, Joe is watching the game and eating what is obviously his second sandwich when Nicky returns. “Booker called, he and Andy should get in either late Friday or early Saturday. He pulled some strings and booked us a flight to Tehran on Sunday. We meet the contact there on Monday night and if the job checks out they’ll get us to the drop point.” 

“ _Bene._ Who’s ahead?” Nicky looks at the television, leaning over the back of the couch to rest his chin on Joe’s head. 

“Spain, but only by 1. Did they have the book you were looking for?” Joe asks around a mouthful of bread and turkey, leaning back and looking up at Nicky. 

“Oh, ah, no.” Nicky replies, “No they didn’t. But they told me there’s another shop in Oakland that might have a copy.” He drops a kiss onto Joe’s waiting forehead and is rewarded with the appearance of those utterly charming crinkles at the corners of Joe’s eyes. 

“Ah, the hunt for the elusive tome continues! I still don’t know why you insist on keeping what’s so obviously going to be my birthday present a secret. At least say you’ll be home for dinner?” 

“Oh, I’ll make dinner. I’m not going back out, the other shop isn’t open today.” Nicky leans down for another kiss, this time next to Joe’s ear. Joe hums appreciatively. “Don’t think you can distract me from figuring out my present just by cooking for me. That hasn’t worked in at least 200 years.” 

“Of course not. But I still can’t have you wasting all this good bread on sandwiches, can I? Now what shall I make for us?” 


	7. San Francisco, 1985 (part 3)

Two days later, Nicky’s leg is bouncing as the BART train pulls into Macarthur station. It’s only a few blocks to the donation center. He walks in, and after a few inquiries is directed to the waiting area in another part of the building. The receptionist, a Black woman with a pair of reading glasses dangling from a glittering chain around her neck, hands him a copy of the same paper form on the same brown clipboard. Nicky notes the time. He takes the clipboard but comes back to the front desk after sitting for only one minute. 

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to interrupt but I was just wondering…” he trails off and glances down at the clipboard, then back at the receptionist “could you, uhm, help me fill this out? I just want to make sure it’s correct, and I have some questions.” 

“Sweetheart, you can put those eyelashes away, of course I’ll help you. It’s been slow all morning and I could use a little conversation.” She grabs a pen for herself out of the jar and they sit together on the plastic folding chairs. “I’m Nora Davis,” she says, shaking Nicky’s hand and putting on her reading glasses. “Now which part did you get stuck on, Mr… Smith?” 

Nicky had filled out the portion at the top to match the fake ID that Booker had made for him, but judiciously left about half of the check-box questions blank. Some were questions about other diseases he’d never heard of, and some questions he just couldn’t rule out as being the one he’d answered incorrectly the last two times. Nora walks him down the list, Nicky checking off boxes, their voices low and cordial as other donors and workers go about their routines. Nicky is feeling good about his decision again. He asks some questions about how the process works. What if a person has one of these diseases but doesn’t know it? How do they decide who gets the blood? Nora answers all his questions candidly and patiently. She’s very good at her job, and Nicky tells her so with a smile. 

“Well, aren’t you kind to say so? I’ve been working her three days a week for, oh, quite some time, and we get a lot of first-time donors at our location. I guess I’ve had a lot of practice, especially with folks who want to help but are nervous.” She gives Nicky a slightly softer look. 

“It’s perfectly normal to be nervous, you know. The machines look a little intimidating, but it doesn’t hurt any more than getting your flu shot. Plus we’ve got Isabel working right now, and she always gets the vein right on the first try.” Nora points out a tall woman with brown skin and shiny black hair pulled back into a low ponytail walking from one chair to another, checking on the people sitting there. Then Nora glances back at Nicky’s face and they go back to the form, going through the next two items quickly. 

Then they came to a question that had a unique set of checkboxes. Most of the items had two: ‘yes’ and ‘no’. This one had boxes for ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘I am not male’. The question was: 

  1. If you are male, have you ever engaged in sexual activity with another male? 



The receptionist’s posture stiffens ever so slightly in the chair next to Nicky’s when he didn’t check a box right away, although her face remains composed. Nicky, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, meets her gaze and asks her “Why does it ask this question here?” But he’d felt it in her tension, he already knew this question was the one. 

Nora takes her reading glasses off and looks pointedly at Nicky. 

“Well Mr. Smith, I don’t know how much you follow the news, but there’s a relatively new disease called AIDS that can be transmitted through the blood. It’s very deadly, and it’s caused by a virus. There is no cure or vaccine, and the virus has been spreading rapidly among gay men. The new rules say we cannot accept blood donations from a man who’s had sex with another man. Just to be safe.” 

“Ah. I see. I heard there was a new test they could do, so I thought... ” Nicky trails off, not knowing now exactly how to say what he thought. 

“Right, the test. Well, the test is new, and right now they’re mostly using it on the blood that’s already been donated. It’s the same reason they ask about injecting drugs up here.” Even as she explains this, there’s a hint of something in her voice. She sounds sad and resigned at what she has to say next. “We have to follow the regulations.” 

Nicky glances down at the bottom of the page where he would sign, and says “I could just check the ‘no’ box.” The pitch of his voice goes up at the end, and he doesn’t understand why it came out sounding like he’s asking for permission. 

“You could, but I know you’re lying on your form.” 

That stops him short. “Wait, how would you know that?” His mind races. Did she spot that his ID is fake? Shit, he does _not_ want to have to ask Booker to make him a whole new ID. He’d have to explain why he needs a new one and _madre de Dio_ there’s no way he gets out of this without Andy getting wind of it. Oh this was stupid, this was a bad idea and he should not have come here.

“Don’t worry! Don’t worry, it’s ok,” Nora says at Nicky’s obvious distress. “It’s all right. I just saw the way you looked at Isabel. Or should I say the way you _didn’t_ look at her.” 

Nora places a hand on Nicky’s knee. “Listen, I need you to know that I am not here to judge you. I know how it goes, you see this happening to people you know, to your friends, and there’s gotta be a way to help, right? Is it something like that?” 

“Yes, something like that.” Nicky agrees, and oh, it feels like his heart is being squeezed in his chest. He thinks of dancing with Joe, how perfect that evening was, and of the photo of Ben and the bearded man. 

“Well, I’m gonna tell you something. You might already know this, but it never hurts to hear it from someone else: you can help just by taking care of yourself and taking care of your people and living a good life. I know it hurts, and it doesn’t feel like enough sometimes. But by doing that, you show up all those fools who spout hate, and you give hope to the young folks.” 

A wet drop appears on the paper, causing some of the ink to run. “Yes,” he says as he wipes the tear from his other eye “yes you’re right. I think, well, I’m leaving on a, ah, a trip soon and I guess I just felt like I was running out of time to help.” 

“Oh sweetheart, I know how that feels.” Nora stands up and offers a tissue from her desk for Nicky. He hands her the clipboard and takes one from the box. “You gonna be all right?” she asks with genuine concern in her voice. 

“Yes, I will be. I think I should go home now. Thank you so much for your help Nora. Truly.” She holds a hand out to shake again, and Nicky clasps it in both of his. His clear blue eyes meet her deep brown ones. “Thank you.” he repeats, and Nora replies “You are very welcome. And I hope you have a good trip.” 

The air outside has a slight chill to it as he walks back to the train station. Nicky stares out the train window the entire ride back into San Francisco, trying to figure out how in the world he’s going to explain this to Joe. 


	8. San Francisco, 1985 (part 4)

Joe can tell something is wrong the moment his eyes land on Nicky’s face. 

“Oh babe, what’s happened?” He gets up from the table and places his palms on Nicky’s cheeks with the utmost tenderness. “Hey. I’m sorry I was teasing you about the birthday present thing. I do like surprises, and I promise I’ll stop trying to guess.” 

Nicky laughs at this, tears threatening to come again but placing his hands on top of Joe’s to feel their warmth. He turns his face slightly to press his lips into Joe’s left palm. 

“It’s alright Joe. I’m fine, and it’s not about that. But let’s sit down please? I need to ask you something.” 

“Yes, sure, of course. Ask me anything, _hayati_.” 

“Do you remember Booker’s story about how they gave him the vaccine, when he chose the army over prison?” 

From there Nicky tells Joe everything that’s been churning around in his mind for the past several days, starting with the interview on the television and going right up to Nora and her help with the blood donor history form. 

“And then of course, I spent the whole train ride home thinking of all the ways this could have gone to pieces. We could have had to abandon this safehouse, could’ve been targeted or tracked, not allowed to leave the country… But I just… I had to do _something_ . I still feel that way. I don’t even know what I expected them to do with my blood, or to find in it! But I shouldn’t have put you and Booker and Andy in danger, and I’m sorry for that. _Dio_ , _mi dispiace Yusuf._ ” 

Joe shushes him a bit at that, pushing aside the need for apologies. They’re sitting on the couch, and Joe leans in to hug Nicky close for a moment. Pulling back, he says “Nicoló, you are the most generous soul I have ever encountered. I wish I’d been paying more attention instead of making jokes. You were carrying the grief alone, but you don’t need to face it alone. What do you want to do next? Do you want to tell Andy?” 

“No, no no no. I don’t think we need to, anyway. They threw out my form at all the places, and it’ll just get Booker and Andy started on the old plague argument again. Unless you see a reason, let’s not tell?” Nicky had cried more than a little when recounting the news interview. Between that and having a good long talk with Joe he’s feeling more clear-headed, but still a little embarrassed at the prospect of unearthing an old point of contention between the other two teammates. 

“Okay. We don’t have to if you’re not ready, and you’re probably right about it not mattering anyway. Now let’s talk about what kind of work we could do to help that doesn’t involve any of us getting stuck with a needle or breaking Andy’s rules.”

The next day there are two arrivals: Booker and Andy at the safehouse, and a large vase of daffodils at the Oakland donation center. 


	9. Mbabane, 2012

“Well I have to say this is a distinct improvement over our last job, boss. Compared to hunting down pirates it’s almost a vacation.” Booker grabs another white cardboard box from the hold of the plane marked with a label saying **THIS SIDE UP** and **ANTIRETROVIRAL TRTMNT, 250 COUNT** in large, bold print. Hefting it over with the others into the back of a weathered-looking box truck, he passes Nicky and then Joe in a circuit to continue unloading the cargo. Andy is standing in the bed of the truck, making sure everything is secure. The boxes closest to the cab are additionally stamped **0-3 YRS** while the ones near the back are stamped **3-12 YRS**.

“Well you can thank Joe.” Andy replies. “He basically set this one up. How’d you meet this guy David anyway, Joe?” Andy tosses the question over her shoulder as she pulls on a nylon strap, putting her weight behind it and then jiggling the topmost box to test her work. 

“David? Oh, you mean Davis. Henry Davis. Well you know how it goes. You put out feelers with particular organizations. Davis’s is just getting started doing this sort of distribution work. He wants to expand all over the region, but the guy he’d been using bailed on him. Apparently the pay isn’t as good as it was 10 years ago, back when he was mainly there to make sure the drugs didn’t get stolen. The treatments are cheaper now, so the job is more driving and less risk. Davis needed a quick replacement.” Joe lowers his voice just a bit so that the pilot, who is smoking a cigarette and talking on his cell phone in rapid Tswana, won’t hear him. “Helps when they’re not picky about doing background checks as long as the team comes with a good reference. Not so different from that Company man who’s hired us next, eh boss?” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right Joe. All right Book, Nicky, we almost done?” 

“Last one.” Nicky says with a smile as he sets a box down. Andy helps Booker up and together the strap in the last of the boxes before hopping down and pulling the sliding door shut. Joe places two large black duffel bags in the middle of the back seat of the cab as the pilot returns from his smoke break and closes up the cargo hatch, handing a clipboard to Nicky with several pieces of paper. The pilot nods and walks back toward the plane as Joe and Nicky come over and the four of them stand in a circle. 

It occurs to Andy that Nicky hasn’t looked this cheerful about a job in a long time, especially considering they’ll be stuck in a truck together for the better part of four days. That’s good. Andy doesn’t want to admit it, but she knows that she and Booker bring a lot of gloom and haven’t bothered being particularly subtle or quiet about it. She was thinking about having a talk with Book about it, actually. But maybe if Nicky’s in this good of a mood it’s not as bad as she worried it was, and the talk isn’t necessary. 

“So we’ve got, what, a 48-hour circuit to make with all of these? Nicky, you have the list right?” 

“Right here.” He flips through the papers on the clipboard. “There’s one clinic at each stop, they all get six crates except for the last one. Their clinic serves a wider area so they get ten. We unload, we stick around while they confirm inventory, then we go on to the next place. Maps are in the glove box in case GPS gets the route wrong.” He flips to another piece of paper. “Then we meet the pilot back here for round two, which is another four clinics in a larger loop to the south. And that’s it, we’re done. The truck stays here and the pilot will take us back to Johannesburg after the second loop.” 

“Well it’s not our usual fare but I’m certainly not complaining.” Andy says. “And it was a nice way to break up the flight to Surabaya. Dibs on the radio.” She smirks at the three men and takes several long strides over to the driver’s seat of the truck. 

“Andy, now Andy just a second…” Booker follows close after her, trying to convince her to let him plug his smartphone into the truck’s dash using a tattered aux cable. 

Nicky smiles at Joe, which earns him a quick kiss. “Thank you for arranging this.” He says quietly. “What did Henry say?” 

“He was very thankful that we could step in. Said it would have been bad for his reputation if he’d flubbed his first big assignment. And his aunt Nora is having a wonderful retirement.” Joe doesn’t need to lower his voice that much; Booker and Andy are still cheerfully bickering over what to listen to first. The two of them climb into the back seat, shoving the duffel bags to one side. Andy starts the engine and shifts into drive, and they head off. 


	10. Epilogue: Marrakesh, 2020

“And you’re certain that you’ll be able to convince them to accept this mission?” Copley’s mint tea sits on the table, untouched and rapidly cooling. 

“No, I’m not at all certain. Convincing them is _your_ job Copley. And really, you’ll have to convince Andy. I’m already breaking the rules by even bringing your name up, and we don’t do any job without her being on board.” Where Booker’s voice would have been defiant 2 centuries ago, now it’s just matter-of-fact. He doesn’t remove his sunglasses, rubbing one temple with his thumb as if to relieve pressure building up in his skull. 

“I don’t understand why it has to be this complicated. We could make two phone calls, you’d give some samples in London, and my boss would probably just send you on your way. Why all the theater?” 

“Well Copley, some of _us_ have been around long enough to remember when the cure for everything was bloodletting or chanting. So your boss is flexible? _My_ boss has a _policy_. And that policy is no doctors, no hospitals, no medical tests. I’ve seen her turn down very good jobs because the poor asshole trying to hire us wanted her to piss in a cup for a drug test.” Booker takes a careful sip of his drink. “Also, if I just give you some samples and your boss makes his breakthrough, they’ll figure out that it came from me and then you will be truly fucked. Actually you might be fucked anyway, but you’re the one who approached me. Bottom line is, if you want samples then this is how you’ll have to get them.” 

Copley looks down at his tea and shakes his head a bit. “Understood. It still astounds me that your team hasn’t considered doing something like this yourselves before. Do you know how easy it is to donate blood these days?” 

Booker gives a small snort by way of a reply that Copley can’t quite translate and downs what’s left in his glass and sets it down. It joins the other two empty tumblers on the table next to Copley’s forlorn-looking tea. Booker raises his eyebrows at the other man and says ”I need to get going now. I’ll be in touch.” as he stands up from his chair. 

“Very well, then.” Copley replies evenly. “I hope to hear from you soon, Monsieur Le Livre.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written anything before! I love these characters so much, and couldn't stop thinking about two quotes: The one Nicky tells Dr. Kozak in the torture scene, and what Joe says about how Nicky's "heart overflows with a kindness of which this world is not worthy."
> 
> I almost got burned out on historical research for this fic and took some license with the locations of blood donation centers around the San Francisco Bay area circa 1985, and also with the layout of the city of Florence in the mid-1300s. Furthermore, I’m pretty certain that AIDS relief organizers don’t just hire a bunch of randos to do distribution of critical medical supplies based on the word of their retired aunts, even if she’s their favorite aunt who was utterly charmed by one of the randos 27 years ago. 
> 
> In the 1889 chapter, Booker is reading up on the [1854 Broad Street pump cholera outbreak and looking at John Snow’s map of the infection’s locations](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1854_Broad_Street_cholera_outbreak#/)
> 
> The [fifth cholera pandemic](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1881%E2%80%931896_cholera_pandemic) (backdrop for the 1889 chapter) 
> 
> [The Lancet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lancet), one of the oldest academic medical journals, has been in circulation since 1823. 
> 
> In the comic books, Andy meets up with Quynh somewhere around 650 AD. I didn’t feel confident enough to choose either Viet or Muong for Quynh, and from [this it appears they were still in the process of becoming linguistically distinct](https://www.vietnam-culture.com/vietnamese-language-history.aspx), so I gave her both. 
> 
> [Florence was heavily impacted by the Black Death](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Death)
> 
> Some quotes:
> 
> “In Italy, the population of Florence was reduced from 110,000–120,000 inhabitants in 1338 down to 50,000 in 1351.”
> 
> “Florence's tax records suggest that 80% of the city's population died within four months in 1348.”
> 
> “The populations of some Italian cities, notably Florence, did not regain their pre-14th century size until the 19th century.”
> 
> I wanted to write more about the [Spanish flu in 1918](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spanish_flu), but it didn’t make sense for the Guard to be back in the US until well after Armistice Day and there was a convenient resurgence of spanish flu in New York in 1920 for them to be trying to avoid. 
> 
> [The typhus outbreak during WWI](https://www.kumc.edu/wwi/index-of-essays/typhus-on-the-eastern-front.html) was particularly bad in Serbia: “Nearly one-third of Serbia's 400 or 500 doctors died as well. Because of this typhus epidemic the Germans, the Austrians, and the Russians feared to invade Serbia, though it was an important military prize”
> 
> The exterior of the Stonewall Inn is based on [this photo](https://www.history.com/topics/gay-rights/the-stonewall-riots#&gid=ci024a78ae40002649&pid=h_14520659)
> 
> Napoleon’s army (and thus Booker) were all [vaccinated against smallpox](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Jenner#Invention_of_the_vaccine)
> 
> Montevideo was actually [besieged twice in the 1800’s](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montevideo#19th_century), and former [President of Uruguay Julio María Sanguinetti](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julio_Mar%C3%ADa_Sanguinetti) really was born in Montevideo to a Genoese family , but I made up the threat of him being assassinated. 
> 
> The bacteria that causes typhus is named [rickettsia prowazekii](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rickettsia_prowazekii) by the Brazilian doctor Henrique da Rocha Lima after his friend Stanislaus von Prowazek. It’s carried by body lice, and was a [key factor in Napoleon’s failed invasion of Russia](https://www.montana.edu/historybug/napoleon/typhus-russia.html).
> 
> The FDA only lifted its ban on accepting blood donations from men who have sex with other men in [2015](https://www.hiv.gov/hiv-basics/overview/history/hiv-and-aids-timeline). They still will only accept donations if men have not had sexual contact with another man in the past 12 months. 
> 
> About [1 million people die of AIDS](https://www.dosomething.org/us/facts/11-facts-about-hiv-africa) in [Africa every year](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HIV/AIDS_in_Eswatini), and 91% of the world’s population of HIV-positive children live in Africa


End file.
